Wonderful Tonight
by celticann
Summary: A song fic for Ainsley Hayes and Glenallen Walken


**Wonderful tonight**

Glenallen Walken/Ainsley Hayes**; **CJ/Danny; lots of others

Rating Adult –

Spoilers through end of series

Not mine, never were, never will be, but they consume my soul

Feedback and criticism always welcomed

"Wonderful Tonight" © Eric Clapton 1977

Another song-fic that my muse told me to write. If you don't like the pairing, blame her, not me ;-D. And, no, I have no idea why, at least so far, she hasn't given me a song for CJ and Danny.

**December 9, 2011; Sheraton Grand Sacramento, CA; 8:45 PM PST**

_It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear.  
>She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair. <em>

Glen Walken draped his tuxedo jacket over the desk chair, then poured himself a glass of tomato juice and sat down on the loveseat in the room.

"Thirty more seconds, I promise."

Glen looked up to see Ainsley's hair draped down her bare back and her bright smile reflected in the mirror.

Ten minutes ago, he had told her that the dark blue dress ("sapphire", she told him) was more to his liking than the red one ("cherry"), but she would look good in either of them.

"It's not too much skin?" she had asked.

True, the red one covered her back and had a V neckline that wasn't too low-cut, whereas the blue one was backless with bare shoulders, but that didn't bother Glen as much as the brightness of the red.

The dress selected, Ainsley leaned toward the mirror over the dresser and fooled around with brushes, powders, creams, and pencils for about three minutes. Then she braided two sections of her hair, wrapped the braids around her head to form a natural headband, so that her delicate bone structure was plainly revealed while still allowing the beautiful length of her golden locks to flow freely.

"Well, I'm ready. Hopefully, there will be some food left. I'm sorry again, for being so late."

"Hey, there's nothing you could do about Katia."

Theoretically, the tropical season ended on November 30, but someone forgot to hand Mother Nature a calendar this year and the tropical storm that dumped about ten inches of rain in Florida before moving up the coast had delayed Ainsley's arrival by about six hours.

So now they would be making a two hours' late entrance at Sam and Morgan's annual Christmas gala, calling even more unwanted attention to themselves and their relationship.

It had started somewhat inauspiciously about nine months ago, during a Republican weekend retreat a few weeks into the start of Matt Santos' second term as President. While both of them were a bit appalled at the Republican House leadership's intransigence about the failing policies of the past, they had disagreed, rather openly and loudly, about how to convince Jeff Haffley that he was overreaching.

When the session ended, the two of them continued their spirited discussion until Ainsley said "I'm starving. If we could continue this over a meal, it would be, by me, appreciated." Then she reached for his crutches and handed them to him.

A few hours later, they were still in the restaurant, having compromised on most issues and having agreed to disagree on about three more.

Over the summer, they met periodically when her travels brought her to Chicago, or when his work for the Hollis Foundation took him to DC. Then, in late August, he took a metaphorical deep breath and asked her to visit him in San Luis Obispo during the foundation meeting and they were "outed" as a couple.

And now, for the first time since that event, they were going to be with the people with whom, although Democrats, they had both individually shared public lives and close friendships, for more than a decade.

Glen put on his tuxedo jacket, reached for Ainsley's wrap and draped it over her shoulders. She turned her head and smiled up at him, just a little nervously.

_And then she asks me, "Do I look all right?"  
>And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."<em>

**Old Governor's Mansion; 9:30 PM**

_We go to a party and everyone turns to see  
>This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.<em>

"We're so glad you made it!" Sam said as he reached over to kiss Ainsley's cheek before shaking Glen's hand. "Ah, here comes Morgan; sit; sit."

"Kara, Vince, and Chad will take care of you," Sam's wife said. The three wait staff who followed Morgan to the table set down the food trays. Kara uncovered the appetizer plates and filled two water glasses while Chad poured glasses of Korbel Brut champagne and Heitz Martha's Vineyard Cabernet.

"May I fetch either of you something else from the bar?" Vince asked them.

Nancy Estevez and Jesse Muñoz approached the table.

"Sam and I have to circulate; there are scads of people we need to schmooze," Morgan explained, "so these two will keep you company while you eat."

"Two of my three favorite blondes," Sam said with a smile.

"Donna's not here?" Ainsley asked.

"The Trips are a bit under the weather and she didn't want to leave them," Morgan explained.

While they were eating, several other couples came to their table. Carol and David Palmer were the first and the two of them told Nancy and Jesse to go join the Macarena line. Then, CJ and Danny joined them and Danny asked his "honorary daughter" for the foxtrot which followed the line dance.

Apparently, Glen realized, the group was used to playing musical partners on the dance floor. It reminded him of last May, when he was visiting his sister's family and his older niece was going to the prom. When he expressed surprise to his brother-in-law that April didn't have a date, Gideon told him that, like many teens nowadays, April's crowd didn't break off into official "boy-girl" pairs; the seven guys and five girls did everything together and that the prom would be no different.

After Glen and Ainsley finished their delayed dinner, Sam came back to the table and asked Ainsley for the next dance. Glen found himself dancing with CJ.

"Glen, are you losing weight?"

"Some. I didn't think it was enough for anyone to notice; I'm a big guy," he replied with the half-laugh of someone long used to hiding his concern about his body with humor.

"Maybe it's because my neighbor is a Hollywood studio fashion designer; I can tell that your tux is too loose for you."

It hadn't been intentional, at least not at first. He had always been a meat and potatoes guy, a hefty guy, playing football first in high school and then for the Illini. But as he and Ainsley began to spend more time together, he found himself really liking the way she prepared vegetables and let her know that. Soon, he noticed that their meals contained more and more vegetables, slightly less proteins, and a lot less starch. Home-made ices, skim milk ricotta, and fresh fruit took the place of ice cream and cake. Neat whiskey and wine replaced other forms of adult beverages and beer.

She asked him and Bess to join her on her daily walks. They didn't walk fast, or far, at first, but eventually, they were walking two miles twice a day and Glen had found that he had dropped forty-three pounds. Glen had no grand illusions of slimness, but he was grateful for the chance to be in better shape, and had hopes of approaching his weight and condition when he was a first team all Big Ten offensive tackle. He brushed aside the one bad outcome of all the walking, telling himself that knowing about Bess in time to prepare for the inevitable was a blessing.

At the end of the set, Glen and CJ returned to the group; he excused himself and headed over to the hallway where the restrooms were located.

Glen was walking out of the men's room when he saw an expensive-looking pen on the floor. As he picked it up, he heard the unknown male voices on the other side of the wall.

"Yeah, but how in the world do you think they manage to do it? Even if he doesn't crush her to death, it can't be at all comfortable enough to really get off."

"And really, how much do you think he knows? How much do you think he managed to get in the past, being that big?"

Actually, he got quite a lot in the past, thank you very much. After all, he had been a football star, both in high school and in college – albeit one with about ninety fewer pounds and a much higher muscle to fat ratio. And as he had gained pounds, he had also gained political power. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. There were always women who wanted something and Glen had used them in the same way that the women were using him. However, there had not been anyone in his heart since senior year at Champaign-Urbana until now.

Glen knew that he had long since lost the arm strength of his football days; the times he spent with women had been with them riding him, or side by side.

He continued that practice for the first two weeks with Ainsley until one evening when she turned to her back and held out her arms. Her single "please" tore at his heart.

"I don't want to hurt you, honey," he whispered.

"You won't; I'm not made of spun glass."

He proceeded carefully. The look on her face and the intensity of her cries as she climaxed led him to realize that she got more pleasure in the "missionary" position than in those they had used previously and he added weight-lifting to the modified diet and daily walks. He wanted to be able to support himself on his arms above her.

The door to the women's room opened; Glen recognized Margaret Hooper, no, Hoynes, and blushed as the conversation on the other side of the wall continued.

"Well, he is one damn lucky guy, but God only know what she sees in that tub of lard. She could do much better."

Margaret came up to him and took his arm.

"You know, people said, are probably still saying, the same things about John and me."

Glen was glad that his face was already red. He had been one of those who had wondered about Hoynes and Margaret, expressing doubt that the former vice-president could manage to be faithful to the tall redhead.

Margaret continued, " I'm sure that if Ainsley heard those asshats, she would say the same thing that I would have said. 'You're mistaken; **I'm** the one who is lucky to have found a good man.' Now let's go get something to drink and then find the others."

As Glen escorted Margaret to the nearest bar station, he noticed that she seemed a bit thicker about the waist. Apparently marriage agreed with her. Then he remembered that she and John Hoynes had welcomed a son six weeks ago. He had never imagined being a father, having a family. But now - .

Walking from the bar, Glen saw Ainsley in conversation with Rick, Ginger, and Jean-Luc Fallières, Bonnie's husband. As he and Margaret approached, Ainsley looked up. Even the half-light could not hide the smile that began on her mouth but was soon reflected in her eyes. When Glen reached the group, she same to his side, put her arm around his back, reached up to kiss his cheek and to whisper in his ear.

_And then she asks me, "Do you feel all right?"  
>And I say, "Yes, I feel wonderful tonight." <em>

_I feel wonderful because I see  
>The love light in your eyes.<br>And the wonder of it all  
>Is that you just don't realize how much I love you.<em>

**Later that evening; Embassy Suites; suite of Governor Sam and Mrs. Morgan Seaborn  
><strong>_  
><em>As Glen and Ainsley walked in the door, Charlie Young gently pushed his Zoey off his lap and got out of the club chair that the two of them were occupying.

"Please, take this one, President Walken. And let me take your jacket."

There wasn't a tuxedo jacket or a tie to be seen; everyone was shoeless. CJ, Carol, and Nancy came out of what Glen assumed was a bedroom. From the bounciness, it was apparent that certain undergarments had also been removed.

"I'm glad you made it," CJ said as she sat down on her husband's thighs and shifted into a comfortable position.

"Yeah, we were wondering where you were." Danny Concannon put his arm around his wife, his fingers almost but not quite brushing against the side of her breast.

If the earlier part of the evening was a reflection of the current teen custom of not breaking off into couples, Glen realized that this end of the evening was much more like the necking parties in the basements of his high school days. Most of the women were seated on the laps of their men; in a few cases, the women were on floor pillows in front of said men.

"We got a bit confused with the one-ways," Ainsley said. "Oh, are those _petit-fours_?" She jumped up from the arm of the chair and went over to the table where fruit, cakes, coffee, and drinks were available.

"Why didn't you stay here, along with the rest of us?" Zoey asked.

"We wouldn't have been able to bring Bess," Ainsley answered. "This place doesn't allow pets; the Sheraton does. And with her time so short, we don't want to leave her alone."

As their daily walks had lengthened and then become twice a days, it had become apparent, about six weeks ago, that the little dog was not able to keep up with the two humans. A trip to the vet and some ultrasounds revealed that Bess had hemangiosarcoma, a particularly aggressive cancer of the blood vessels. Ainsley had been almost as devastated as Glen, but she talked with the doctor, and helped Glen to decide to give himself until after Christmas to say good-bye to his beloved companion, unless the poor little thing took a turn for the worse before then. When Glen wanted to back out of his plans to travel with her to North Carolina for Thanksgiving, saying that he didn't want to chance something happening to Bess while she was in a boarding kennel, she quickly disabused him of the notion that he would have to choose between the canine and meeting her family.

"But you've seen her, how she sometimes doesn't make it to the door. What if she ruins a rug?"

"We're old money Republicans, Glen. Remember when Reagan left office?"

He remembered the party wag who explained what would be different about Ronnie's successor. "The Reagan's are new money, the Bush family is old money. They both have expensive oriental rugs, but old money doesn't care if the dogs pee on them."

Glen found himself relaxing and letting go. Danny Concannon pulled out a bottle, something he said came from his brother-in-law's family distillery, something that was not normally available in the states. The whiskey went down smooth, way too smooth, and Glen held out his glass a second and third time; soon Glen was feeling no pain.

Once, he got up to use the bathroom, and, as he was leaving it, Sam came toward him. Glen stepped aside to let him pass, but Sam stopped in the hall.

"I can see how happy you've made her, and I'm glad; we all are. Ainsley is special to us and we're glad to have you with her. Normally, this is the time I would tell someone not to hurt her, because she is even more special to me, but I know that you are not capable of hurting her. I'm glad, not only for her, but for you."

_It's time to go home now and I've got an aching head,_

Even Bess hadn't been dying, Glen probably would have taken a room in a different hotel than this one, because of his nervousness about the situation. Now, he wished that, like everyone else, he and Ainsley only had an elevator ride to their bed instead of 12 block car trip.

"We should be going," Glen said.

"But you'll be with us tomorrow, for the trip up to Tahoe?" Morgan asked. "I'm going to send a car for you; it's no use to protest," she laughed.

Glenn stood, then weaved a bit.

"Maybe I should send you back to the Sheraton in a cab," the first lady of California said.

"It's okay, I'm able to drive," Ainsley, holding her hand out to Glen.

_So I give her the car keys and she helps me to bed._

Charlie and Vince went with them down to the garage and made sure that Glen got into the car and that it started for Ainsley. Glen half-dozed as Ainsley drove the mile between the two hotels.

Once in the room, she helped him with his clothes and asked him to undo her dress. Ainsley changed into a silky sleep shirt and got into bed beside him.

_And then I tell her, as I turn out the light,  
>I say, "My darling, you were wonderful tonight.<br>Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight."_


End file.
